The Thinblood Roar
by sunder92
Summary: this is a fic of the tabletop rpg, not the computer game. join me in the adventures of Aodh O'Kttman, a revnos whom seeks to evade the camarilla by using his own pattented brand of trickery.
1. Chapter 1

I never asked for any of this.

But, then I never really asked for anything. I just tried to make the days go by as fast as I could. Anything I could use to pass the time was implemented; gambling, wine, women, song... never would I have actually put any faith into the workings of these things, and yet before I knew it 20 years had passed, differentiated only by the caliber of the agents sent to recruit me.

I had burned every bridge I had, the Camarilla by my mistake during the first hours of my unlife, the Sabbat in the same incident. The independents would accept me back with open arms, but were not to my liking. Only the respect of their messengers kept them from meeting the same fate as the agents of the other families.

The years that had flashed by had been spent in a town in New Mexico. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, who would think to look for a vampire in the desert? The actual kindred, that's who...

I resided in a hotel, in the upper floors of a casino. I was seen as a reclusive millionaire with nocturnal waking hours, and acute photosensitivity. Hell, why not, I had cash to burn. My company back east took care of my expenses, in the good care of my lifelong friend, Sarah. A casino seemed like the opportune place to stay; plenty of drunken people off which to feed. This was also not a place where the present lingered for very long... people came to these places to forget, not to make long lasting memories. Which worked for me, the last thing I needed was for a picture of Aodh O'Kittman, fangs extended, gun in hand, to pop up during a therapy session with an executive who is dealing with his fear of success, who just happened to wander into the wrong craps table at the wrong time.

25 years earlier, I had been sired by a thirteenth generation Ravnos. The particular gypsy was under the watch of the Camarilla, as well as the warning not to sire. Either she had not gotten the message, or she just didn't care, and sired me, creating a 14th generation Ravnos, a Catiff. A thin blood. At the time of my siring, I was more human than vampire.

Here I was, a full quarter of a century later, 9th generation Ravnos, on the run from both sides of the coin, not even truly welcomed by the metal that held the two sides together. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, and ran my fingers through my long black hair, thankful that my sire had not been a Lasombra, whose reflections were that of blank space, which is to say, none. On my way to the door, I scooped up my cane from its place by the bed.

Seconds later I was in the elevator, trying to avoid eye contact with a young couple, with whom I had interrupted a fencing match of the tongues. As the ground floor dinged, I shot through the slowly opening doors, and strode up to the bar.

As per my schedule, I sat in my corner, and ordered a crown and coke. My glass hit the table moments later (I think the bartender anticipates me at this point, and pre-orders it prior to my detention), and I stared out at the crowd of people.

Here a short, portly couple, obviously on their 28th anniversary, sitting at coin slots, gasping and clapping their hands when they doubled their net worth of 75 cents. There a group of men, ties loosened faces red from a long night of drinking, most likely a bachelor party. Maybe the groom didn't see the older couple, or his inescapable fate, because he didn't run screaming back up to their rooms to hang himself with his cummerbund.

I continued to peoplewatch, as always ignoring my drink. Unless there is blood in it, I can't drink it. I've known a few kindred who had been blessed with an efficient digestive system, but the rest of us were unable even to drink water without becoming violently ill and regurgitating all the ingested nutrients.

As my eyes darted to each person in turn, I began to slowly relax the binds on my stolen discipline. On the day that I became banned from the Cammies, I came into possession of a powerful discipline, which was quite frankly more trouble than it was worth. As the power within me stirred, the emotions of each person began to leak into my mind. I felt the joy of the old lady, who had just hit another 25 cent jackpot. I tasted the pure happiness of who I could only assume was the groom. I washed these things away in the boredom of the waitress, of whom the glamour of the casino had long since faded.

As my eyes scanned over the bar, a strange tense demeanor filled my senses. My eyes flitted to the source, a heavy-set, black suited man, whose eyes, like mine, were scanning the crowd. He was looking for something, and he was wary of what he expected to find. He was here for me.

I rolled my eyes. _When will they learn that no means no?_ I pondered to myself, again binding my Discipline. Aware of the many tricks the families and clans offered, I scrutinized the man. There were no extreme attachments, no third eyes, no pointed ears, which instantly ruled out the flamboyant clan Tzimisce. None of the many shadows in the vicinity were attracted to him, which barred the clan Lasombra. He seemed sane enough, which meant he was probably not a Malkavian. With these three ruled out, it was a fair bet that he was a Camarilla.

With this in mind I relaxed slowly, the Sabbat would attack on a whim, in the middle of this crowded room. The Cammies, however, honored the masquerade. He would be civil, though not necessarily cooperative. Eager to get this over with as soon as possible, I doodled on a napkin, drawing a small cross with a pointed bottom, the symbol of the Ravnos. With my artwork finished, I called over the bored waitress.

"Please hand this to the gentleman over there," I asked politely, handing her the napkin, and pointing her in the right direction. With a groan, she waddled over to the kindred, and handed it to him, then pointed to me. The dark man looked up at me, and I did a mock bow. He stood up and strode over to me, without even thanking the waitress I might add. With no introduction, he sat down in the seat across from me.

"Aodh O'Kittman?" he asked in a stony voice.

"Yes, I'm Aodh. Lighten up business man; I'm only violent to the people who are either very pushy or very rude." I replied, trying to inject a sense of calm into the moment.

"And of the 13 recruiters that were sent after you previously?" he asked sternly.

"They left my company in perfect health," I lied "why? Did one not make it back?"

"None of them did, as you well know" he said, the tendons in his neck tightening.

"How unfortunate," I responded "then they were unable to tell you that I declined their offer? Then I'll state it again, just for the sake of redundancy; I have no side on this particular war, as my lack of action before now should have clearly shown. I also have no wish to get tied up in political bullshit, either Camarilla or Sabbat."

"Unlike my brothers that you murdered," he spat with distain, "I come, not with an offer, but a warning; join the Camarilla, or perish. Our new prince will not suffer independent maggots under his regime." I was actually surprised.

"Wait... NEW prince? What happened to Alice?" I asked, honestly taken aback.

"She was killed at the hands of an independent, and now Lord Archer has taken her place." he said, with venom in his voice.

"Hence the new stance on the independent clans?" I inquired with a smirk. "Far be it from me to attempt to encompass the entirety of the Ravnos clan, but I can't see us joining as a whole, we are simply too far spread."

"This is not a political debate." he said "this is a final offer."

I pretended to think about it. I had never thought this day would come; Alice seemed unkillable. A Thremere of an unbelievable generation and amazing power, as well as the leader of the Camarilla, now dead. The fact that her body was that of a 9 year old girl was a simple facade, skin barely containing the purest flames. Archer was her... I'm not sure what his relationship was to her. He was forever 22 years of age, in body only, and her second in command. While she had a sense of humor, and of honor, Archer would take no chances. If he intended to destroy all the independents, he meant ALL the independents. I would not be spared. This offer was nothing but a thin lie. They wanted me to walk there, because it would be easier than carrying my corpse.

They should have known better than to try and trick a Ravnos.

"O.K." I announced finally, "I'll go with you. Can't avoid it any longer. Time to pick a side."


	2. Chapter 2

"I hope you understand how difficult this is for me," I called to the thus far nameless kindred, "I've been out of the loop for the better part of twenty years."

"I'm sure this was a tough choice," he said sarcastically form his chair by the bed, "join or die? Most people would still be scratching their heads."

I had convinced him that I needed to pack, and lured him back to my room. I was now loading my assortment of clothing into my suitcase. I pulled a shirt from the drawer and said, "So, what clan are you? Ventru? Gangrel?"

"Brujah," he reveled begrudgingly.

"Huh. I've known only a few Brujah, but for the most part they ware good conversationalists, if only a little single minded."

I pulled another article of clothing from the drawer, slowly making my way to the bottom.

"Handy in a fight though," I commented cheerfully, spreading the false, 'absent minded' look across my face," What are their disciplines? Potence, Fortitude... what else? I know there's another... Auspex?"

"Presence," he corrected.

"Ah, presence. Helpful little ability, thought about looking into it myself. Never would have learned it from a Brujah though," I said, just chattering away "probably a Toreador, or maybe even one of the princes, you know, someone I could kill easily if they get too uppity."

He laughed at this. So he thought violence was funny? Get ready to laugh big boy.

"But then again, the Brujah Antitribu aren't so tough either. Got one way back, name of McGregor. He was a smart guy, a thinker, which means he died quickly. Cane through the heart, teeth in the neck, none too hard." I risked a glance at him, revealing a small grin he had on his face. My words were getting to him. It's hard not to like a Ravnos when we want you to.

"You know, back before I got picked up by the Cammies," he said, seemingly cooled down from the ice that had been broken, "just after my siring, hit the frenzy, right? Grabbed a Malkavian, squeezed, and popped his head clean off his shoulders. Sire had to pin me down to keep me from lapping up the 'crazy juice' as he referred to it."

I pulled out my last pair of pants, finally coming to what I had been digging for; my black case. I began my life as a hermit, but I had always known I would need my 'effects' as they were known. Everything I had carried on me was in this box, save for my cane and my clothes, which I wore now. And yet, the box itself, not what lay within, was what I had dug for.

"Good times, good times," I chuckled to my escort. "Hey, Rabble Rouser, can you give me a hand with this chest? Put that Potence to good use."

"Sure thing," he replied, hefting himself from the small chair, "not like presence will do any good here."

He crossed the way, and I stepped to the side, saying "Potence and presence? No fortitude?"

He leaned in, grabbing the handle of my box, "never learned it. Only those who don't trust in their own strength rely on..." he stopped midsentence. A dumb look spread across his face, as did a red bloom across his shirt. The tip of a stake protruded from his chest, the handle gripped tightly in my hand.

"There are those who would disagree with that assessment," I commented calmly, stepping out of the way as he tumbled to the floor. Frozen shock still, he was still able to pack a ton of hatred into his immobile eyes.

I lifted my box out of his frozen hands, and set it on my bed. The locks popped open smoothly, as easily as the day I bought it. Resting within, were my babies. First and foremost to catch my eye was my bottle of blood. It was a hipflask from my living days, always a preferred part of my apparel. The particular blood it held within was of a drugstore clerk, harvested moments before he OD'd. There was enough poison in this little flask to down a hell hounded elephant.

The second was the only piece of clothing that I had given up in my solitary confinement; my cape. Black silk, and as old as I was, this had also been from my days as a living man. I had gone nowhere without it, and I had gone a lot of places. It was both fashionable, and functional, serving as sort of a portable blanket. I had stowed it away, because I was hiding. A cape would stand out more than I already did, I didn't need MORE attention.

And, last, but by no means least, stacked among a multitude of ammunition, was my savor outfitted, 22 round per second burst, kickback reeducating, top of the line, AA12 'Aodh O'matic' shotgun. This little baby had gotten me out of more than a few tight spots, and had seen action in all ways, from 5th gens to blood beasts. In the time it took the average person to say 'oh crap' it could reduce them to no more than a memory, and a splatter on the floor. Just looking down at it got me pumped up to get back in action, the stains along its barrel bringing back more memories than a preschool to a catholic priest.

I quickly equipped these things, leaving nothing but the ammo in the box. The gun was held on a strap over my shoulders, and the flask was tied to my belt. Two extra clips of ammunition were held in pockets hidden within the cape.

"If you see McGregor," I said to the Brujah on the carpet, "tell him that I'm putting his Discipline to good use."


	3. Chapter 3

I pulled away from the hotel in my newly stolen car with a strange sense of comfort. I had been sitting still for far too long, and that's not a good idea for a member of a strictly nomadic clan. Now i was moving again. Now I was back in business.

I had left the staked Brujah on the roof of the building, which would have a perfect view of the sunrise, or so I'm told. He would be able to witness it firsthand. With him gone, i would have about two days to get away, before the Camarilla learned of my scheme. But, the new prince had still changed everything.

When it was just the normal Cammies and the Sabbat i could deal. But Archer was ruthless. He would see my killing his agent as a direct insult. And, while i could easily take out a whole cabal, i could by no means take out the Camarilla.

That would take at LEAST two people.

Luckily, I didn't plan to overthrow the 'good' vampires, just to get off their radar again. If i planned to do that, i would need the help of my old friend. When we left the Independents, we were forced to go our separate ways. We were simply too destructive together. Occasionally he would send a letter, but always from a different place. He was a smart guy, brimming with ungodly toughness. I've seen this man take a grenade to the face. An _incendiary _grenade. Which is bad for vampires in general, very painful. He was the shield to my sword.

He was 6.

The name, not the age. His actual name is Saets, but it is far more pronounceable my way. He was a Tzimisce of immense power, and more than a few tricks up his literal sleeve. Normally, trying to find someone with whom you have had no contact for years, who can be anywhere on earth is slightly more difficult than buying a can of glitter. However, this is the supernatural world. Things far more elaborate come far cheaper.

I walked through the streets of the city i had pulled randomly into, the glitter can held in my hand. I gained a few strange glances, but no more than any of the _other_ cape wearing, cane wielding, shotgun having, vampires walking through town in the middle of the night holding packs of art supplies. I turned down a few corners, until i found what i was looking for; the broken man down the alley.

Most people would simply turn away, and continue on their merry way, dismissing him as simply another vagrant. Though he certainly smelled the part, there was little this man had in common with your average bum. For one, he was far more insane than the old men flashing cars for food. FAR more insane. But, this particular price came with a gift. He, as a child of Malakav, had access to a unique perspective, as well as other grand abilities. One of which, the one I was looking to cash in on, was called 'The Cobweb'.

The Malkavian mind network. It was a series of invisible strings that connected all those who shared Malakav's lineage, blood, and curse. Something sighted by a Malkavian in Africa could be transmitted to another of the lunatics, who made his haven in Brooklyn. A single question asked to him is a single question asked to the entire Malkavian clan.

I strode up to the bundle of rags and nudged it with my foot.

"Hey, wake up," i said to the lunatic.

Instantly he sprung to his feet, and threw off the ratty blanket that had covered him. His actual garb was a cannibalized assortment of clothing, each stitched together in a macabre Frankenstein of an outfit.

"The bear has died," he rasped, "leaving the cub to fend as the mother." Much of the Malkavian vocabulary is as cryptic as this. The trick is to hear, without actually listening.

"Yeah, I know it surprised me too," i replied, cheerfully, "do you think Archer knows what he's getting into?" he scratched his head.

"All cubs know what mother has done, but the fur hangs loose. In time, he may grow to fit his station, but not before he trips over his shoelaces, and lands upon the helpless babes that litter his path." He said after a moment of thought.

"speaking of which," i said, proud of myself for translating his babble to a comprehendible manner, "I'm looking for someone. Not exactly a quiet person, so he should be sending strong vibrations across the cobweb."

"Aye, but what be in it 'fer me?" he inquired, cocking his head to the side, taking on the demeanor of a pirate.

"Millions of shiny things," i replied, pulling the glitter from my pocket. He snapped out of his current mindset, as his eyes locked onto the shining can. I moved it to the right, his eyes moved to the right. I moved it to the left, his eyes followed in suit.

I had him in my pocket.

Without looking away from my hand, he reached into his pocket, and pulled a pen and a piece of paper from his pocket. He jotted something down quickly, then thrust it into my hands, before snatching the can from my hand, then retreating into his corner, huddled over like a squirrel with an acorn. With a grin on my face i turned from the alley and strode back into the night, directions held deep within my pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

The directions, though all but illegible, were straightforward at least. And so, a short plane ride later, I stepped from one desert to another. Apparently he had taken the game of hide and seek to a new level, traveling to the most random port he could find; Antarctica.

It made sense, no body temperature, so no reason to fear the cold, and an astoundingly long night. It was beyond me how he gained food, but he had a way. He always did. I thanked the pilot, though the state of his coffers should have been thanks enough.

"are you sure your dressed for this weather?" he shouted out over the wind.

"Don't worry!" I called back, "I'm used to the cold!"

Though the weather was straight out of _The_ _Day After Tomorrow_, i felt no cold, and thus needed not impede my movement with thick layers. The garb i wore now was the same thing that had always covered me. The pilot took off, leaving behind what he was sure was a goner. With my only witness gone, and no more need for pretences, i took off in the right direction, with nothing but the word of a lunatic, and a little intuition to guide my feet.

When a vampire wants to go fast, he can go fast. Some are more built for speed than others, Brujah, Tzimisce, and Lasombra among the slower clans. Others, like myself, have a helpful discipline called 'Celerity'. Though sketchy, it basically speeds us up. WAY up. In the time that it takes the average person to draw their weapon, i could cut them from head to toe, fix my hair, and say a truly heartfelt eulogy. It also is useful for running. Hauling ass at top speed, i am little more than a blur. It doesn't last long, full speed anyways. Nothing comes for nothing, and the price for most disciplines was our vitae, our blood. Normally, it takes a good portion of blood to move at full speed for more than 4 seconds, but those more practiced, like myself, could 'pepper' it in, and augment our normal speed over large distances. I did this now, leaving a puff of snow in my wake. The flakes of ice stung my face like flying needles, but no true damage was done. The ground was all but frictionless, but my feet were never in one spot long enough for me to slip.

It was truly beautiful, through all the snow filled air I would occasionally catch glimpses of the landscape; a perfectly pure sheet of white, a blank canvas as it had been at the beginning, and will be again by the end. Occasionally I would catch sights of wildlife, a penguin here, a seal there... cute little buggers, and though they could feasibly be used as a source of sustenance, it didn't seem within 6 to kill such adorable, innocent creatures.

I had begun to worry that the cold would frost the barrel of my gun, when I finally saw something in the distance. At first I was unsure what I was seeing; it seemed to be no more than a large grey blob in the snow. But, as I grew closer to it, I saw what it was.

It was a castle.

At first I thought someone had cast an illusion, something I was more than familiar with, being a user of Chimerstry myself. I quickly discarded this notion, on the grounds that it was not only stupid, but a huge waste of effort to put up a huge castle illusion in the middle of an arctic wasteland. Besides, I can distinguish fantasy from reality, unless everything I have seen in the past twenty five years has been an illusion, which is a thought I am still entertaining as a possibility.

I continued on my path, which was directly in the direction of the castle, which it turns out, was **immense**, fully equip with ballista, needles, and other castle-y things. Worried about my gear, I pushed my Celerity for all it was worth, and was at the door before I know it.

Despite the subzero tempretures, the gate opned easily. i slipped inside and shut the door, glad to be out of the wind. i turned my back to the door, taking in my bearings. i found myself in a hallway, light by sparce torches lining the walls. as my eyes adjusted to the dark, and my ears to the lack of wind, i begain to make out details. it had a tall ceiling, pillars, a long red carpet, the whole regal shabang.

a noise met my ears, ehoing from along the hall. it was hard to identify what it was, due to the acostics of the building; echos upon echos. curious, i followed the hall to its end, a large wooden double-door. at a glance it seemed to be 7 feet tall and at least a foot thick; it was made to keep people out. i sat on my haunches, contemplating how to gain entrance.

if, infact, it was a thick as i suspected, there was little chance of my breaking through. given time, i could probably break it down, but that would require tools that i did'nt have. i could shoot my way through, had the cold not chilled the barrel. the heat of the bullet fireing would cause the metal to rapidly expand from its curently contracted state, leaving it shattered and useless. not to mention the fact that it would be horribly rude.

i raised to my feet, ready to look for something to break the door down with, when a stupid thought occured to me. with a frown, i slowly walked to the door... and pushed it right open. with a roll of my eyes, and an mental smack to my cheek, i stepped through, into the sound.

as i saw the source, the sound solidified, and became whole.

music. the sound had been music.

i had stepped into a large room, at least 300 feet from wall to wall. there whre two doors, besides the one i had entered from, and a large red curtan completly obscureing one wall.

the music, which had till now been simple meaningless noise, origonated from the center of the room. more precicely, from the giutar held by the man i the center. he sat on a small stool, eyes focused on the floor, he played masterfully.i diddnt recognise the song, or the man, but both were very well made. at the angle i was, i couldnt make out his face, but i could see that he was swathed in dark clothing, wearing large boots, and sporting short spikes on his head.

his melody swelled, seeming to almost bring warmth to the room. reluctant to interrupt, but requiring information, i slowly walked up to him. my footseps filled the room, and almost seemed to become one with his music.

there was a sudden flash of movement, and i dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the projectile he had thrown. i rolled to my feet, though he was already on his, all with out missing a note. his gaze, now target away from the floor, fell upon me, blazing with a strange passion. his arm flew up, and hit a chord that seemed to reveberate through the building, somehow amplified. shadows sprung form his instrument, and surrounded me. the liquid black solidified, and took on the form of humanoids.

_what the hell?_ i shouted in the corner of my mind, _what is this? looks like obtenebration, but this is far more complex and advanced than anything i've seen..._

the shadows started to move, in a strange fluid , dancing motion. their bodies shudderd and morphed, and their color darkened. strange instruments appered in thier hands, their forms turned anamilistic, and they became solid. more than a little off guard, i leapt bakward, brushing past one, who seemed to be holding a flute. they made no immedient attempt ot follow me with anything other than their gaze. there seemed to be about five of them, each holding something different. the oblects they held, like themselves, shuddred and moved, and seemed to be caught between two states of being. they changed form, from instrument, to weapon.

one held what could either be a flute, or a blowpipe, another a giutar, or a battle axe. a third had a pair of bladed drumsticks, the fourth a keytaur (a giutars with piano keys), with sharpened keys. the fifth held a microphone stand. all the while, the man kept playing.

the music swelled, growing louder and more intense... them a strange bonechilling silence. the whole room went quiet, which seemed almost painfull after the loud cresendo. suddenly, the shadow with the mic screamed into the air, and the song begain again. the shadows joined blasted forth, playing their instruments, and rushing forth towards me. i was sturred into motion, whipping my cane from my belt, and stood at the ready. i ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding a dart from the piper. again, i weaved to the side, dodging a second shot. the music swelled as they reached me, and crashed as they attacked.

the shade with the saw-like keytaur swung it at me, drawing only a single drop of blood due to my fast movements. i had jumped backward to avoid his blow, but now the drummer came for me, swinging his sticks like a madman. i swung my cane, batting aside his slices with difficulty. a quick, unexpected movement on his part got past my defences, scoring a long slice olong my arm.

"Bad... Idea" i hissed. now i was hurt, AND mad. i whirled into a fit of Celerity, impaeling him 5 quick times in succesion. as my cane peirced him for the last time, the music screeched as he dissolved, and all the players shuddred.

a moment later this lapse was forgotten, as they again attacked, and continued with the song, which now took on heavy metal qualities. the shadow with the giutar came for me, visciously swinging his axe. i ducked below his swing, and slammed my shoulder into his stomach, sending his sprawning. i felt a sharp pain in my side, as the flute player scored his first hit. i roared in anger, and sprung towards him, again popping Celerity. an instant later, as the now dead fluteist evaporated, the music jerked again, the players following suit. i took advantage of the momentary ceasefire to pluck the dart from my skin, and pant heavily. all these bursts of Celerity enhanced speed were taking its toll on me. i was feeling light headed, and more than a little tired. i only had about one shot left in me, then lights out. the 'band' recovered, and rushed towards me. the singer weilding his stand like a quarter staff one second, swinging his shadowy mic like a mace the next.

l retreated to the other side of the room, keeping my eyes on them. i had killed two so far, the drummer and the wind instrument player. all that remained were the singer, the base giutarist, and the keyborder.

_Wait... what happened to their leader?_

my eyes darted around the room, falling on the dark man who had summoned these monsters in the first place. he had not moved since he had sicced them on me, save for his fingers, which still moved with blinding speed along his strings. his eyes still contained all the fire they had shown earlier, but they were focused, not on me, but on the players, which still made their way to my position.

suddenly the anwser occured to me! it was so simple! falling on my final burst of speed, i crossed the distance between me and the mystery player. i returned to normal speed as i reached him, much to his apperent shock. with one deft move, i snached the instrument from his hands, swung around, and broke it across his music screeched to a halt, as the shadows were ripped asunder.

dropped from the force of my blow, the man had fallen uncounsciuous. now sick from lack of blood, i was not far behind. my breathing was labored, and my vision was blurry. the room swam infront of my eyes as i dropped to my knees. a strange sound filled my ears, which was incomprehencaple to my addled mind. i fell forward to the floor, the darkness closing in before i hit the ground. the last action my mind completed before shutting down was connecting the sound to a word.

_applause? _i wondered, _there applauding me?_


	5. Chapter 5

I awoke to the continuious _drip drip drip _ of a plasma bag some time later. i blinked my eyes, trying to get my bearings. the room before me swam into view. i lay on a hospital bed, still in my clothes, which didnt ensure that none here had seen me naked. the room was blank, but for two chairs and the bed in which i lay. the two chairs seemed to have things attached to their seats in the form of two kindred, one beautifull and one... not

The one to the right, the more attractive of the two, had long black hair, and dark skin, a rarity in the land of the undead. even the blackest of people go pale with the lack of a heartbeat. her smooth skin was broken only by a horisantal scar running for a short legnth along her forhead. her beaded hair fell around her head like a dark waterfall.

now, as for the other person... there is a clan called the Nasferatu, aptly named the 'sewer rats.' after their embrace, their bodies twist and mutate horribly, and irreversably, forever barring them from the human world. gaping fang-filled maws, discolorations, tumors, holes in places of noses, batlike ears, bald heads, twisted spines, pustelant sores, and webbed fingers are but a few of the many deformations awating any newly sired sewer rat. ive seen some Nasferatu in my time, and many were plesant enough, if not on the eyes then on the mind, but none of them looked like this...

what sat in the chair looked like a Nasferatu that had been left underwater for a month to decompose, then left out to sun-dry on a clothesline made of ugly. he looked more corpselike than many corpses ive seen in my day, and ive seen a LOT of corpses, though most of them either fresh, or charred. his skin was leathery and warped, rotting in most places, oozing in others. he had a few stray strands of hair, with which he attempted no style, though i diddnt blame him. it would have just been sad. his nose was a gaping hole, leaving nothing but a strip of bone to show what had once been nostrels. his fingers, which he rapped in a steady motion, seemingly bored, were withered and thin, the bone poking through in many places. but the most horrifying were his eyes.

have you ever heard those stories from those with near death expirences? about how they saw a long tunnel, seemingly endless? about how they ran along, tripping over themselves, desperate to get out, to find an exit, not to be trapped? how they fell, and skinned their knee, crying in desperation, ready to give up, when they saw the light? they saw a bright light, and knew, without a doubt, that it was heaven. they ran now with renewed vigor, finally seeing the end. the angels beckoned to them, crooning their sirens song, calling them forward. the tears of desperation now turned to joy, sensing eternal relief was now at hand. and as they took their final steps into the light, awaiting endless bliss... the fires of hell swooped up, swallowed them whole, and took them down for a teaparty with Hitler, Atilla the Hun, David Duke, and an endless number of Oscar winners .

those were his eyes.

they were sunken deep into his skull, blackness surrounding them. a bright red gleam shone from withen, seeming to tinge his face with a light blush, more so than his broken blood vessels, and stripped veins.

"looks like sleepin' beauty finally came 'round, heh?" he snorted. i shuddered; his voice was even worse than his face.

"Quiet Edgar, let him acclimate to his surroundings," the woman said.

i heafted myself upright, looking from one to the other, marveling at the contrast. the dark woman stood, and crossed the distance to my bed.

"where do you hurt?" she asked softly. i ran through my mental demo, flexing each muscle and joint in turn. supprisingly, i felt fine, which is more than i can say for any OTHER time ive fought shadows. the only pain i felt was from my wrist, probbably twisted from landing on it when i passed out. i lifted my wrist, wincing as i stied to bend it. noticing my pain, she extended her hands, placing one on top, and one below my brused joint.

she wispered something inaudable, and closed her eyes. then the strange stuff started.

the slit on her forhead, which i had merly chalked up as a scar, opened. not only opened, but blinked. beneth her skin, lay a third eye, the same color and pattern as her other two. it swiveled, taking in the room, and came to rest on my broken bone. at this point in my unlife, i pride myself on being levelheaded, having seen far too much to scare me. i diddnt even flinch at this new development, but i did make a mental note to ask a string of questions later. her hands begain to glow with a soft light, the heat making its way into my skin. the joint grew warm, the heat washing away the pain. in an instant, the third eye slammed shut, the heat and glow dissapeared, and it all ended.

even one as world-wise as me has occasional moments of awe. this was one, as i flexed my now 'Good as New' wrist. the pain had dissapered like a rainforest in the wake of a parking lot, seemingly gone with the light. hell, i didn't even have a crick in it anymore!

"wait, what did... when did i... how did you...?" i stammered.

she simply smiled, and stated "all in good time," crossing to her deformed friend.

"meet us outside, when yer' ready," he called in a phlegmy voice. they both left the room, leaving more questions than anwsers.


End file.
